Art house films

"Zen Noir"

If Zen went noir, where would it go? Credit writer/director Marc Rosenbush with a catchy pitch, but his debut film is too cute with its koans and detective cliches. "The morning fog clung to the city like the scent of desperation on an aging drag queen," narrates The Detective (Chicago actor Duane Sharp) in an opening voiceover. "Why do I talk this way?"

Next question: Why did a monk keel over in the middle of meditating? The hard-boiled detective bandies whodunit dialogue with bald Buddhists, including Articulate Lotus Flowing From the Source (a k a "Ed"). His inquiry yields non sequiturs and no suspects. He peers at an oddly abridged dictionary where "myself" and "mystery" are adjacent entries. A potential perp (Debra Miller) disrobes and defines "lay person" for him in sensual terms. The crime scene is visited by a blank-eyed blue-faced blonde with a red symbol drawn on her forehead. The Detective has deeper issues with Death.

Rosenbush, who once directed a Buckets O' Beckett Festival in Chicago, clearly likes absurdist lines and adventurous stage lighting, but he lacks cinematic karma. Even at a pithy 71 minutes, the coyly mannered "Zen Noir" annoys to no end. Rosenbush directs Sharp far too broadly, as The Detective morphs into an inner pilgrim.

(No MPAA rating. Modest Tantric sex. Running time: 71 minutes. Opening today at Landmark Century.)

"Vajra Sky Over Tibet"

John Bush first traveled to India in 1970, and began practicing Tibetan Buddhism. His output as a producer and director seems limited to his "Yatra Trilogy" of travelogues, begun in 2001 and completed with "Vajra Sky Over Tibet."

"Yatra" is Sanskrit for pilgrimage, and Bush is a video pilgrim visiting Cambodia, Bali, Java and now Tibet.

In his narration, he defines "vajra" as "the thunderbolt of illumination flashing from the vastness of an open sky." His co-narrators are exiled Tibetans: singer Dadon and Tenzin Choegyal, nephew of the Dalai Lama. Bush states in his press notes that "the pacing, panning, pauses in narration" let us meditate. Yet his ordinary imagery merely illustrates what's said offscreen. To insulate Tibetans from reprisals by Chinese authorities, this mindful tourist interviews no one he meets in the streets and monasteries.

Shooting rites and scenery, cinematographer Bush says he offers "a visual prayer." Aiming a camera at Buddhists is not the same as visualizing Buddhism, though. As an act of devotion, this video testifies to Bush's sincerity and support for Tibetan religious freedom. Good karma for him is not good cinema for us.

(No MPAA rating. Running time: 89 minutes. Opening today at Gene Siskel Film Center.)

"Turistas"

Anti-gringo slasher films are not usually shelved alongside art films, but this one has some subtitles. Set and shot in Brazil, "Turistas" boasts buff English-speaking tourists targeted by an organ thief. If the tawny Aussie Pru (Melissa George) did not speak a little Portuguese and translate for her mates, there'd be a lot more subtitles.

Director John Stockwell likes his casts wet: He shot "Blue Crush" in Hawaii, and "Into the Blue" in the Bahamas. In "Turistas" his bikini-clad backpackers cavorting on a beach after their bus crashes are nearly as naked as the plot devices. First-time scripter Michael Arlen Ross starts with extreme closeups of a woman's eye and a really scary scalpel. This flash-forward to her later kidney and liver extractions is like a built-in trailer, freshit for an impatient audience.

Don't-drink-the-water Alex (Josh Duhamel from NBC's "Las Vegas") chaperones his frisky 17-year-old sister Bea (Olivia Wilde from Fox's "The O.C.") on her first international vacation. "Come to Brazil" posters beckon them to the worst tourist trap imaginable. Zamora (Miguel Lunardi) and his glue-sniffing, gun-toting underlings drug, rob and hog-tie foreigners.

Skimping on anesthesia, Zamora delivers a lecture on post-colonial payback to his involuntary organ donors. Elsewhere, Ross scripts condescending scenes to clarify that not all Brazilians are evil. Cinematographer Enrique Chediak ("Cronicas") delivers vivid hits of violence, but Stockwell delivers too little of the dread and titillation this genre prescribes.

(Rated R for strong graphic violence and disturbing content, sexuality, nudity, drug use and language. Running time: 89 minutes. Opening today at local theaters.)

Bill Stamets is a Chicago free-lance writer and critic.